Go gentle into that good night
by Ayla Pascal
Summary: A global catastrophe causes a major shortage in global resources. The government's plan involves ridding itself of the infirm. Originally written for 2ndary author for the apocalyptothon.


They've come with their bright eyes, white knuckles tightened around machine guns and their phrases of _for the common good_ and _scarcity of resources_. The world's changed, and everybody knows it. Cuddy has a pinched look on her face as she stands aside for the men in uniforms who march with a click, click, click of their heels through her hospital.

House watches as two little girls are dragged unceremoniously out of their beds and bundled away. Their mother is screaming and screaming, the sound tearing through the silence like nails in a blackboard.

House doesn't wonder why people don't stop them. He doesn't have to. He knows exactly why.

That's why he isn't surprised when the men in uniforms come for him. "Please, Doctor House," one of them says politely, gesturing with his weapon. "Please come with us."

House narrows his eyes. "This is murder," he says. The words slice through the air. "You can dress it up however you want, but it's murder."

The man in front of him doesn't even blink. "Doctor House, we have orders from the White House to take you to a camp."

House feels his fingers tighten around his cane. He wants to yank it up and slam it into the nose of this arrogant captain. He wants to feel the satisfying crunch of the man's nose as it is shoved forcibly into his brain. Nobody can cure that. His cane lifts imperceptibly from the ground before he stops himself. "Do you think you'll be able to sleep at night?" he says quietly. "Will you dream of little Bethany and little Louise?"

The man laughs harshly. "I believe I will sleep fine. Nothing will happen to little _Sarah_ and little _Alex_."

House shrugs. He didn't think he'd get the names right but it was worth a try. "They'll come for you next," he says, keeping his voice soft, almost conversational. "First the Jews, then the homosexuals, then the gypsies, and then the ordinary German citizens."

"We're not in Germany."

House stands up slowly, leaning heavily on his cane. He deliberately makes his limp more pronounced as he follows the soldiers out of the hospital. On the way, he can see the horrified expressions. Cameron's mouth is open, her hands clasped over her stomach. House can see Chase gripping her arm tightly, as if to stop her from running. Cuddy's face is expressionless, like glass and House knows that it would only take a few words out of him to make her crack and crumble under the pressure. Thirteen isn't there. They took her this morning. Both Taub and Foreman aren't there either and House suspects that they may be trying to hide patients away.

Not the very sick, of course. They couldn't be moved in time. But when House made his rounds that morning, he noticed charts switched around, seemingly carelessly, and patients that were not in their beds.

House almost smiles. He's taught them all so well.

-***-

They are all loaded into a cargo truck. There are no chairs, no seats of any kind. Instead, House finds himself surrounded by sick people, some of them squatting, kneeling, some even praying, but most just have a look of despair. The road is bumpy and House finds himself being thrown against the side of the truck, causing shooting pains to go through his leg.

They've taken his cane so House can't even clutch it for safety. Instead, he finds himself having to look at other people who were shoved unceremoniously into the truck. The sick, the infirm, the homeless, the mentally ill, the filth of humanity, all in the back of the truck with him.

House almost laughs but realises just in time that he isn't crazy.

"Where are they taking us?"

House looks down and sees a little girl. Her head's bald and it doesn't take a doctor of his genius to tell that she has cancer. "To a work camp," House says shortly.

A woman – House deduces that it must be the girl's mother; they have the same eyes – clutches the girl's hand. "Work camps," the woman repeats, her voice laced with bitterness. "I'm sure that's what they said last time."

House doesn't answer, but just finds himself looking around. There's a good cross-section of America in the truck with him. He can see people of all races, colours, some are clutching crosses, others are simply staring off into nowhere and still others are trying to help people around them. It almost sickens him when he realises that they've all been taken so easily.

After the earlier riots in San Francisco that ended in such disaster, nobody has dared to argue any more. The mushroom cloud that lingered over the West Coast reportedly could be seen for hundreds of miles.

"Will you walk into my parlour, said the spider to the fly," a man next to House mumbles to himself, while rocking back and forth.

House decides that the man's right. He narrows his eyes. They're being prey. They're walking into a trap and worse, they know it's a trap. All but the very youngest and the insane on this truck know exactly where they're going, but they fear for their healthy friends and family.

"And that's what the government wants," House says aloud.

The woman looks at him, in a puzzled way. House can almost see the cogs in her head turning, wondering if he too is insane.

"We're like lambs to the slaughter here," House says harshly. "We should fight. Escape. There's still food enough in the wilderness."

She laughs until a hacking cough overtakes her. "I have TB. How long do you think I'll last surviving on berries and mushrooms? And that's if we're not gunned down." Her eyes are overly bright with unshed tears.

"So you'd rather walk to your own death, willingly?" House asks her. He can see the shocked look on her face, the way she tries to clap her hands over her daughter's ears but it's too late.

The little girl turns her head and looks up at House with tears in her eyes. "We're going to die? Like Daddy?"

The woman glares at him. "Now look what you've done!"

"It's the truth," House snaps. "Face it." He narrows his eyes. "I'm going to get out of here." He isn't sure how, but he'll be damned if he lets them take him alive. "Are you with me?"

She looks away, but somebody else grabs House's arm. House turns his head and finds himself staring into the dark brown eyes of a very heavy-set man. "I am," the man says, his voice a low growl.

Other people chime in their assent. Finally, the woman in front of him nods. "Live free, or die," she mouths, with her hands over her daughter's ears.

-***-

As the truck rolls slowly to a stop and House hears the men get out of the front cabin, he slowly leavers himself into a standing position and motions for everybody to get ready. He looks around. They're a pathetic bunch of society's rejects, but there's anger gleaming in everybody's eyes. They have the element of surprise. And House knows that with the element of surprise, they might just make it.

At least, House thinks, none of them will be going gentle into that good night.

-fin


End file.
